This Guy Logan
by Moonshadow1
Summary: Chapter 8 is here!
1. Sorry Logan

A/N

When I got fed up with Season 2 I started wondering exactly how Logan would live up to his words in Borrowed Time. "That year we wasted, dancing around each other, afraid of actually admitting how we felt ... if I had that time back, I would do that so differently."

In this story, he'll have his chance. 

Here's how my A/U works ...

Designate This happened pretty much the way you saw it.

Forget everything in between DT and Borrowed Time. In this world Max immediately tracked down Delbert the lab geek and got the cure.

And that cure is permanent. So Max goes to Logan's apartment with her good news, the dance begins ... and then complications happen, including the shooting at the beginning of Harbor Lights. That's where this story starts. But lots of ship and a happy ending are promised!

--------------------------------

"Sorry, Logan."

Those words. _Sorry Logan sorry Logan sorry Logan_. How many times had he heard them?

__

Logan, spinal nerve damage does not just heal itself ... not ever. 

Listen, I know how you feel, son, but you've got to let her go.

"Sorry, Logan. I have no idea when she'll remember something. It could be an hour from now. It could be never," Sam was saying.

He couldn't listen any more. Without another word he stood and walked out of Sam's office, down the corridor, out to the parking lot. Viciously he jerked the car door open and climbed in, flopping back against the seat in grief and frustration. 

I just got her back. I just got her back, he thought over and over. I can't lose her now.

Had it really been only one short month since she returned to him from the dead?

Had it really been only one short week since she had come to him, hesitant, to tell him the virus was cured?

_What did you want to talk about? _

Let me ask you a hypothetical question.

Those are my favorite kind. 

Supposing ... just supposing ... I found a cure for the virus. 

Is there such a thing? 

Yes.

You're serious. So we can touch and nothing will happen? 

I don't know about nothing, but you won't die. 

Oh, my ... Max ... 

Had it really been one short day since he'd ignored her call, thanks to his hurt pride, only to hear the phone ring an hour later?

__

Hello? 

Hello. To whom am I speaking? 

Well, that depends. To whom am I speaking? 

Sorry. This is Julie Camby. I'm a nurse in the emergency room at Harbor Lights. And you are? 

Still wondering why you're calling me. 

We treated a young woman this morning for a gunshot wound. She didn't have any identification on her, only her pager, and yours was the last number to call in. 

After that it had mostly been a blur, the frantic call to Sam Carr, the ride to the hospital, negotiating with Nurse Camby to get a visitor's pass, and then the confusion when Sam stopped him gently at the door to Max's room.

__

Logan, I need to talk to you.

Can it wait?

No. 

She's not ... ?

No, no. She lost some blood, but she'll recover completely from the wound. It's something else, Logan. When she fell she hit her head on the sidewalk.

And?

And, she has a concussion, which seems to have affected her memory.

How badly? Does she know who she is?

Yes. She knows her name, knows she's Manticore. She's in no danger of exposing herself.

Then what?

Logan, it's you she may not know.

What do you mean?

When I told her you were coming, she said, Who the hell is he?

That was when he pushed past Sam into her room. The minute he saw her he knew it was true. She lay in the bed, pale from blood loss, but that wasn't what frightened him. It was the look on her face, the one he thought he would never see again. The cynical runaway. The hardened soldier. He stopped.

"Uh, hello," he said after a moment. 

Suspicious, almost mocking, she looked him up and down and then said, "So I'm supposed to know you? You're Logan?"

After the summer he had thought nothing could ever hurt him again so deeply, but this came close. Very close. "Yes, we've met," he said, fighting to keep his voice steady.

"Huh." She stared at him again, then shrugged. "That doctor said your phone number was in my beeper. What for?"

"I was returning your call."

"What did I call you for?"

"I don't know," he said, and that was the truth, or as much of it as he wanted to tell her. What was he supposed to say? _Well, you see, we danced around each other for a year, then I thought you were dead, only you came back, and after we got past them trying to kill me, we were finally going to be together but we had a terrible fight? And I was hoping you were calling me so we could try again?_ Yeah, that would sound perfectly sane and reasonable to someone lying in a hospital bed with a hole in her belly she couldn't remember getting, talking to a guy she thought she'd never seen before. 

"So I just called you randomly? Out of the blue? And you thought it would be a kick to call back?"

"No." Any other girl would have been confused, upset, scared even. Max was weak but her calm confidence devastated him. How could this be happening? "You've done some work for me, now and then. Maybe you were calling about a job."

"What kind of work?"

"I'm an investigative journalist. You've done some research for me."

"I have?" She made a face. "Doesn't sound like much fun." His heart sank. He didn't dare mention Eyes Only, not yet, but he had hoped that maybe when he said "investigate" something would have clicked. Nothing. Not a spark

She shifted in the bed, with a little moan. "Are you all right?" he asked her quickly. She looked so small in the bed. He wanted so badly to hold her, now that he could. Except he suspected she would knock him halfway across the room for trying it.

"Yeah, I'm good." She leaned back on the pillows. "Listen, you got a cell phone?"

"Yes."

"Could I borrow it? I want to call my roommate, let her know I'm okay."

"Sure." He handed her the phone, hesitating. She remembered she had a roommate, that was good -- but which one? If she couldn't remember him, did she think she was still living with that blonde -- what was her name -- Kendra? "Cindy's probably at work now, though," he said finally.

"Cindy? You mean Original Cindy? She's not -- oh. Am I missing something here?"

"Yes. Kendra moved out and Cindy moved in."

"Oh. Why?"

"Kendra's with her boyfriend now. Cindy was evicted and you took her in."

"No shit." Max looked annoyed. "Guess I've got some catching up to do. How do you know all this anyway? Just how long have I known you?"

"Not quite two years."

"No kidding," she said, then turned her attention to the phone. He heard her speaking to Cindy, heard Cindy's alarmed voice, but he wasn't following the words. Dazed, heartsick, he stared at the table beside the bed until it blurred. Then he heard her saying, "Hey. Hey!" He refocused his eyes to see her waving the phone at him. "Cindy wants to talk to you."

Cindy had questions, a lot of them, but all he could manage to say was, "I'll call you later." Sam had arranged to transfer Max out of this decrepit dump of a hospital over to Metro Medical and he wanted to be there every step of the way. There had to be more tests they could run, more they could tell him. Then Max closed the phone and gave it back to him.

"Thanks. Look, I'm kind of tired now. Could we talk some other time?"

"What? Sure. No rush. You take care of yourself, okay?"

"Yeah, thanks," she said, closing her eyes.

And that was how he had come to be sitting here in his car in the middle of the afternoon, in the hospital parking lot, not knowing where to go or what to do. I just got her back, I can't lose her, the voice in his heart cried out again. And then, without warning, for the second time in his life with Max, he cried. 

He cried for a long time, cursed, shouted, pounded the dashboard. And by the time it was over he had made a decision. He took a deep breath, wiped his glasses clean, then got out of the car and went back to Sam's office. Sam looked up inquiringly as Logan pushed the door open.

"Got a minute?"

"Of course."

"I'll do anything. Whatever it takes. Just tell me how we're going to get her back."

"This could take time, Logan, if it happens at all. Time, and a lot of patience."

"I said, whatever it takes."

Sam nodded. "Okay. Who's going to take care of her when she leaves here?"

"Her roommate, I guess."

"Then bring the roommate by tomorrow. We'll talk then, okay?"


	2. Alone

In the morning Logan picked Cindy up and drove her to the hospital to meet with Sam. 

He hadn't slept at all the night before. The hours crawled, no matter how hard he tried to distract himself with work. Finally he gave up. He couldn't concentrate on anything but Max. After all those times she'd accused him -- fairly, he had to admit -- of being too obsessed with his work, now here he was, obsessed with her, heart and soul, just when she couldn't have cared less. 

He went to the window then, thankful that the exoskeleton let him pace, work off some of the pent-up energy he'd only been able to hold inside in the past. It was a clear night and the lights of Seattle, though not as bright or numerous as they'd been before the Pulse, sparkled below him, and a nearly full moon rose behind the dark Needle. Stars, moonlight -- they reminded him of the nights with Max here in the apartment, the glow of candles in a blackout, the night he'd dared to show her his angel poetry. What had she really thought of that poem anyway? Would he ever find out, now?

All those precious moments ... if they were lost to her forever ... if he alone remembered that only days ago she had finally, joyfully told him she loved him ... thinking of that, he felt as lonely this morning as he had ever been in his life. And anxious. He couldn't wait to get to Sam. He wanted Sam to tell him where to start.

At the next light he realized he had the steering wheel and the hand controls in such a tight grip that his knuckles were turning white. With an effort he relaxed his hands and glanced over at Cindy. She was slouched down in the seat, arms folded, uncharacteristically quiet.

"Late night?" he asked, just for something to say.

"Huh? No." Cindy folded her arms tighter. "It's just that -- well, Original Cindy has to admit, she ain't scared of much, but hospitals make her nervous."

"I hate them too," Logan replied, surprised to hear the passion in his own voice.

"Straight up, sugar," Cindy agreed sympathetically, but didn't say anything more. 

Logan sighed. Last night he had made some decisions, and he wanted to talk about them. Somehow he couldn't find the words to start, though. He realized he'd been hoping Cindy would do that for him. He and Cindy had talked sometimes over the summer when Max was gone. Cindy had never been afraid to remember the good times or tell him honestly when she thought he'd let Max down (which was plenty, he remembered ruefully) and he'd been counting on her fearlessness this morning. Somehow he'd never thought that anxiety would shut Cindy up. That was usually his act, wasn't it?

The morning traffic was light and they made it to the hospital quickly. Logan led the way to Sam's office. After Logan introduced him to Cindy, he motioned them over to a set of CT scan images clipped to a light board. 

"Good news," he said encouragingly. "See here? And here? Perfectly clear, no shadows. That means there's no bleeding in her brain. Just a simple concussion." He snapped off the light, leaving only sunlight to illuminate the room. 

"So that means she might get over this soon?" Logan asked eagerly.

"Not quite," Sam cautioned. "It's hard enough to predict when someone will recover their memory after a simple head injury. But in a case like this, there are so many factors I can't even begin to figure out what's going to happen."

"She's revved up. Won't that help?" Cindy asked.

Sam nodded. "Yes, that's the good news. The bad news is, we have no idea exactly what happened at Manticore, or what kind of stuff that lab tech put in her to cure the virus." He shook his head. "It's anybody's guess what's been done to her in the last few months. Or how it will affect her."

"Can't you test her? Get some answers?" Logan demanded impatiently. Damn Manticore. Thanks to them not even the simplest thing could be simple for Max. 

"I could, but that's what I wanted to talk to you about. I want to discharge her today. If you're ready to take her home," he added, to Cindy.

"Today?" Logan was alarmed. "Isn't that too soon?"

Sam shrugged. "It's early, but the gunshot wound is healing remarkably fast. And quite frankly, Logan -- " He lowered his voice. "I've been diverting all her blood work and lab tests, running them myself, but every day she stays here, we risk of accidental exposure. If someone gets a look at her tests, or even sees that barcode when she's sleeping, well -- "

"Not to worry," Cindy interrupted him. "Boo don't need to hang around here eating bad hospital food. A little TLC from Original Cindy, some homemade soup, and she'll be kickin' ass again in no time."

"So where does that leave us?" Logan asked, frustrated. All that had kept him going through the long night was his belief that Sam would have answers. He hadn't expected this. 

"Patience, Logan. The way she's healing, it will only be another week or so until she's close to normal, physically. Then you can start to worry about the rest of it."

"But what do we --"

"For now, while she's recuperating, just take it real slow. She'll ask a lot of questions. Answer them. Going home may very well stimulate her memory, and that's great. For now, keep it simple, and try to keep it positive. Save the heavy stuff for when she's got her strength back." He glanced at his watch. "Let me call upstairs and get the nurses started on discharging her. Meet you up there in ten minutes?"

Logan and Cindy went out into the hall together. "Show me the way and let's get this bitch over with," Cindy said, looking apprehensively at a passing gurney carrying an unconscious man. 

"Hang on a second." Logan led her down the corridor to a seating area with three or four battered plastic chairs. Pulling two into the corner, he sat. He was a little nervous. He couldn't wait any longer to tell Cindy what he had decided last night, not with Max coming home today. Besides, Sam had given him the perfect opening. He cleared his throat and began, "Remember how Sam said to keep things positive at first, nothing too heavy?"

"Yeah?" Cindy looked at him suspiciously. She was too smart, Logan thought. She knew already he was up to something. 

Trying to keep his voice casual, he went on, "So I'd, uh, appreciate it if you didn't say anything to her yet about me and the, ah, wheelchair." He had been hoping that after Sam's instructions she would agree with him, but no such luck. She was all over it.

"What do you want to do that for? Weren't you listening to me when I told you that don't make no difference to her? Now you want to start all over again with a lie?" Cindy fixed him with a stern look.

"I was listening to you. That's just the point," he said patiently. He had thought it all out last night, including this conversation, and he was very sure of himself. "You told me she never stopped feeling guilty about the shooting. Well, she has now. She has no idea anything even happened to me and even less idea that somehow she might have stopped it. I want to keep it that way."

"Yeah?" Cindy pointed down at his shoes, where the metal footpieces of the exoskeleton were clearly visible. "How you gonna hide that from her?"

"I'm not," he said, making himself sound a lot more confident than he felt. "She probably won't even care, and if she does, I'll think of something." He looked Cindy straight in the eye. "Please. Don't put her through that. She'll have enough to take in when we tell her about Manticore. About what's happened to her sisters. And most of all, Zack. This can wait." 

For a moment they stared at each other, equally convinced that they were right and the other was wrong, and then Cindy gave in. "Well ... okay," she said grudgingly. "For now, Original Cindy won't tell on you. But you take her word for it, the day is gonna come when you're gonna have to step up to the truth. So to speak," she added.

Relieved and pleased, Logan smiled. "Yeah. Well, we can worry about that later. Shall we go upstairs and get her?"

Upstairs, though, his mood turned bleak again. He stuck his head in the door of Max's room, got a quick, indifferent, "Hey" from her when Cindy explained that he was giving them a ride home, and then found himself waiting out in the hall while Cindy helped her dress. 

He wished he could take her back to his place, the way he had after her run-ins with the Reds. She had come to him so many times there, not just when she was a little roughed up but when she was lonely, when she had lost yet another friend or family member, or when someone needed a place to hide when they were on the run. He had always been secretly proud that she came to him like that, for comfort and help, though she wouldn't have admitted it in a million years. Free food and a hot shower, she would have said, grabbing whatever she wanted from the refrigerator as if she owned the place. Now ... well, no point in going there, he told himself as a nurse came down the hall pushing an empty wheelchair, which she took into Max's room. 

A few minutes later the door opened again and the wheelchair reappeared with Max in it. He should have expected that, but he had forgotten that hospitals never let anybody leave on their own two feet, even when they could. The sight of her in a wheelchair hurt him so much that for a moment he couldn't breathe. Then he heard what Max was saying and smiled, in spite of everything.

"I'm telling you, I don't need a ride out of here. I can walk," she was insisting. Cindy, carrying her bag, rolled her eyes behind Max's back. Logan saw to his relief that Max already looked much better than she had the day before. There were still dark circles under her eyes but there was color in her face again and she was definitely annoyed at the nurse.

"Hospital policy, ma'am," answered the nurse in a patient, bored voice.

Max sulked all the way through the elevator ride downstairs and out the door. The moment Logan pulled the car up Max hopped out of the wheelchair, said "See ya" to the nurse in a tone so full of attitude that Logan had to hide another smile, and climbed into the back seat. Cindy got in the front seat and they drove away. An awkward silence filled the car. Desperate, Logan looked over at Cindy, but she seemed to be lost in her own thoughts again.

Finally, from the back seat, Max said, "So this is your car, huh? What happened to it?" 

Logan's heart jumped. He should have known Max wouldn't miss a thing, especially not the plastic covering the back passenger window. His mind raced. Damn. Had she noticed the bullet holes decorating the passenger door and side panel? He hadn't had the time or the money to have the car repaired, and the last thing he wanted Max to remember right now was that her brother Zack had shot the car up. It had happened that last night they were together, the night that was supposed to have been their beginning but instead had led to this mess.

Cindy was watching him, waiting for him to take the lead. "Oh, the plastic," he said, trying to be casual. "Window broke. Somebody threw a rock. Just haven't had time to get it fixed." 

"Oh yeah?" Max replied. "Somebody throwing bullets at your car too? Or have you got enemies? Maybe I ought to think about taking the bus home. Getting shot up once is plenty for me, thanks."

__

Me too, he thought. "Sorry, nothing that dramatic," he said aloud, keeping his voice light and sneaking an apprehensive glance at her in the rearview mirror. Was anything coming back to her? "Just found it that way one morning out on the street," he went on, trying to cover his anxiety.

"Some nutjob taking target practice," Cindy threw in helpfully.

"Must have been," Logan agreed, watching Max in the mirror.

She was staring out the window, expressionless, and for a moment he was afraid. Then she yawned hugely. "Whatever. Boy, I'm beat. Can't wait to get home."

"Almost there," Cindy said, and the bad moment passed. Max closed her eyes, leaned back, and stayed that way until they arrived at her building. Then she hopped out with a quick "Thanks." As she walked away Cindy stuck her head back in the car.

"Don't look so pathetic," she told him. "I'll call you later, okay?"

He could only nod, watching Max disappear into her apartment building, followed by Cindy. When the door closed behind them he sat for a moment, feeling utterly alone. He would have given anything right then to take her home, cook for her, care for her, help her get better. Love her. Instead, here he sat in the car, a cold draft from the plastic window blowing down the back of his neck, and the only useful thing left for him to do was go away.

No telling when he would see her again. 


	3. Shaking

The next morning Cindy called Logan from the pay phone at Jam Pony.

"Boo had kind of a bad night," she reported in a low voice that hardly carried over the background din of Normal's dispatches and the answering shouts of the messengers. Logan was immediately worried.

"Bad night how? Is she all right? Should I call Sam?"

"Nothing he can do about this. She took some of those painkillers he sent her home with and woke up crying in the middle of the night. Said she'd been dreaming. Said it was about Zack."

Zack. That couldn't be anything good. Logan ran a hand through his hair. "Is she okay alone? I mean --"

"Hang on, sugar." The background noise got louder and he heard Cindy bellow, "What?" and then, "Keep your shirt on. I'm comin." The din receded and Cindy told him, "Look, I gotta go. Normal's gettin' on my case twice as bad today since he don't have Max to pick a fight with. Do me a favor. Give her a call and check up on her?"

"Sure --" 

"Thanks. Later," she said, and hung up before he could finish his sentence.

He listened to the dial tone for a minute, started Max's number, then changed his mind and closed the phone. What was wrong with him? Why was he hesitating? He had expected days to go by before he thought of a decent excuse to call Max, and now Cindy, bless her, had given him one. So why wasn't he grabbing his chance?

Because, he told himself, you're scared.

How else was he supposed to feel? He loved Max, and she was indifferent to him. What if she brushed him off in that way of hers, the one that let a guy know she had a hundred better things to do with her time? Once before he had found the way past the hard shell around her heart, but could he do it again? How?

One thing was for sure -- he knew what he wouldn't be doing. Though well over a year had gone by since they first met, he still turned red with humiliation whenever he remembered the way he had come on to her, in the days before the shooting. He wanted to cringe every time he thought of himself lighting the candles for dinner, or touching her hair in front of the old mirror that had been in the hallway then. Yeah, you thought you were such a player, he told himself. So irresistible. Little did you know that over-the-top seduction and casual sex were the last two things on earth that were going to impress Max. Lucky you got shot when you did. Saved you from making an even bigger ass out of yourself than you already had. 

He was so deep in his memory of those days that he didn't hear the phone ringing at first. Then he nearly dropped it in his hurry to answer before the caller hung up. "Hello?" he said.

"Hey," Max answered. "Am I interrupting anything?"

Max. The sound of her voice after what he had just been thinking flustered him completely. "No, not at all," he said quickly. Too quickly. Don't sound so eager. "Are you all right?" he asked, forcing himself to slow down. 

"Yeah, if you can call being bored out of your mind 'all right.' Listen, Cindy said you might be able to fill me in on some stuff about my family. Got a few minutes?"

"Tell you what. I was just about to head out. Can I come by your place and we'll talk there? Probably not the kind of stuff you want to discuss over the phone." He held his breath. He really wanted to see her.

"Sure," she agreed. "Whatever." Probably out of desperation, but he'd take it. He was desperate himself.

"Okay then. See you in about an hour." He hung up and found that his hands were suddenly shaking. Terrified as a kid going on his first date! Now what could he bring her? Food. Max loved his cooking. He found some leftover pasta with chicken and sauteed vegetables in the refrigerator and a bottle of mineral water. He could stop and pick up some bread at the market. Flowers too? No. Too personal. Too much like a come-on. What had she called him the last time? "Bent"? Not going there again, he reminded himself. 

It felt like forever, but at last he found himself climbing the stairs to her apartment. He was so nervous he didn't have good balance and had to hang on the rail with his free hand or risk falling over backwards. The last thing he needed was Max dragging herself out of the apartment to pick up the pieces. That would really impress her, he thought grimly, taking a deep breath and pushing open the door Max had told him she would leave unlocked.

Max lay on the couch, eyes closed, hair pulled up in a messy bun. A few dark strands trailed over the pillow and he longed to reach out and touch them, touch her beautiful face, but as if she knew what he was thinking her eyes popped open and she sat up. "Hi," she said. "What's in the bag?"

"Huh? Oh. Lunch, if you're hungry."

"Oh yeah? Cindy left some soup but let's see what you've got." 

Logan walked over to the couch and held out the bag. As Max reached for it, she frowned. "What's that noise?" she asked.

He looked around the room, puzzled. "Noise?"

"Yeah. Clunking -- and this kind of high-pitched whiny sound." She looked at him suspiciously. "You carrying some kind of electronic equipment or something? Maybe a tire iron?"

Oh crap. The exo. She could hear the servomotors and the clunk of his heavy shoes and the foot attachments hitting the floor. "Huh. Maybe my cell phone," he improvised, standing still and shaking the bag to distract her.

"Doesn't sound like a cell phone to me," she objected, but took the bag from him and peeked in, then took out the container of pasta and lifted the lid. "Smells good," she announced. "But what's that green stuff?"

"Spinach."

"I hate spinach." 

"You like it in this," he replied without thinking.

"How do you know?" she snapped back, then looked up. She must have seen what he was feeling in his face, because she suddenly looked confused. "Oh. Did I eat this with you before?" She frowned. "Wait a second, I eat with you? I thought we just worked together."

"You worked up an appetite on a couple of the jobs you did for me. You were welcome to whatever was in my fridge." He watched her. For a moment he thought she was going to say more. Then she shrugged and closed the pasta container. "Could you put this away? I'm not hungry right now," she said.

When he returned from the kitchen, making sure to sit where she didn't have a clear view of his feet, she had fixed her hair and was ready to talk. "Cindy says you can fill me in on some things." She frowned. "How do you know anything about Manticore anyway?"

He felt on safer ground now. Talking to her about this would be like Eyes Only working with a source. He settled back in the chair and answered, "Manticore is not as secret as you might think. There were, and still are, rumors everywhere. I'd heard about it long before I met you."

"Oh. So exactly how did we meet?"

He had to try very hard not to smile. "You broke into my apartment," he said, watching her face.

She laughed out loud, looking for a moment like her usual healthy, irrepressible old self. "And you trusted me after that?"

"No," he returned, "but you were good at what you did, and I figured I could work with that."

"So how have you been paying me? Besides leftovers, I mean. I'm sure I haven't been doing this out of the kindness of my heart."

He let that one go. "You keep whatever profits you seize from the evildoers. I give you information about your family."

Suddenly her face was sad and she shifted restlessly on the couch. "I was dreaming about my brother Zack last night," she said. "I haven't seen him in ten years. I can't remember finding him in the dream but it feels like I did." 

He took a breath. Now came the hard part. "You did find him. In real life, I mean. Or, he found you."

Her head came up then and she stared at him fiercely. "He did? _Where is he_?"

"I'm not sure. It's complicated." He knew that wouldn't satisfy her at all, so he went on quickly, "While you were searching for your family, Lydecker was on your trail. Then Manticore got in on it. They caught Tinga, Max." He had already decided not to mention Brin, or Ben. But there was no getting around Tinga. 

"They found her? Captured her? She's there now?" Her distress showed clearly in her face. She half-rose from the couch, as if she were ready to head for Manticore immediately.

"Not quite. You and Zack went to free her, with Syl and Krit. But it was too late. Max, she died before you got there. You and Zack were captured and held prisoner for three months. Then you escaped and the place burned to the ground. It's gone." 

Max fell back against her pillow, her face filled with conflicting emotion. Her eyes filled with tears. "She's gone? Tinga's gone?"

"I'm sorry, Max." He let her cry for a few minutes, feeling the tears come to his own eyes, wishing he could comfort her. There was only one thing he could think of to say, and after a moment he said quietly, "I don't know if this helps any, but before she was captured she married and had a son. Who is free and safe."

"A son?" Max whispered. She looked up again, wiping away a tear with the back of her hand. "I'm an aunt?"

"Twice by now, or any day now. Your sister Jace was expecting, last you saw her." 

Max smiled a little. "An aunt twice, huh?" she said, a little shakily. "That's cool." He could see her push her grief away then and focus her attention again on the rest of what he had told her. "Did you say -- Manticore's gone?"

"That installation is. Hard to tell how many others they had. And you still need to be careful. There's some evidence that the National Security Agency is on your tail. Rounding up everyone who escaped, in '09 and the night you got out."

"Where is everyone else? Zack? The others? Did I -- did Zack -- find anyone else besides Syl and Krit?"

Logan hesistated. He had decided the night before not to mention Brin, or Ben. He had no idea whether Brin had escaped the destruction of Manticore, or where she might be if she was alive. And Ben ... he had long suspected that Max knew more about Ben's disappearance than she had ever admitted to him. He didn't want to pry into those secrets now and Ben was long beyond her help, or his. Best to let him rest in whatever peace he might have found. Someday he would tell her, but not today, or tomorrow, or any day soon.

But when it came to Zack, there could be no evasion. The only question was, how much of the truth should he tell her? Zack wasn't in Seattle at the moment. Lydecker had taken him out of the city a week ago, to the secure location where he and Syl and Krit had spent the summer hiding. They were guarding him there day and night. To keep him from trying to kill Logan again. 

Logan's thoughts drifted back to the night the virus was cured. And to that moment when at last he kissed Max, then drew back and took a breath ...

__

Max, there's something I want to tell you.

What?

Max, I --

And then the door bursts open and there's Zack. Zack, who has been living with Max since his escape from the Steelheads, recovering. What now, Zack? Logan starts to say, and then he sees the gun. It's pointed at him and Max is shoving him out of the way, shouting, and he's running for the door (thank God he's wearing the exoskeleton), down the elevator, into the parking garage to the car, but before he can get there Zack and Max come spilling out of the stairwell, Zack is shooting again, hitting the car, finally hitting the hip of the exo. There's a zing and a crackle as the servomotor shorts out. He's down. Zack is coming, relentless. Max frantically tears some wires loose from an electrical box on the wall and drops them on the wet floor where Zack is walking, and at the last second Zack goes down. 

__

But the relief doesn't last. After Lydecker takes Zack away, Logan begins again.

Now where were we? There's still something I want to tell you.

There's something I want to tell you too. I can't see you any more.

What?

I'm a danger to you. I thought it was just the virus but it isn't. It's me. You heard what Sam said. It's all still in there. He could try to kill you again any time.

Max, you can't -- 

I can. Goodbye.

Max, don't. I love you ...

But she walks away ... 

She was watching him, waiting, drinking tea from a chipped mug she had picked up from the floor beside her. He still hadn't decided what to say when a shudder shook her body so hard the tea sloshed over her hand and down her shirt. "What's wrong?" he asked sharply. 

"Uhhh," Max almost groaned. "All of a sudden I feel like crap. It might be --" Another shudder shook her and Logan realized what was happening. 

"A seizure," he finished. She hadn't had one since the trip to Cape Haven, at least not as far as he knew, but maybe the blood loss, or the anesthesia, had triggered them again.

"Guess you've seen this show before," she gritted through clenched teeth.

"Yes. Do you still keep tryptophan here?" No time now to tiptoe around what she did and didn't know. Seizures were one thing when she was in perfect health. They were another, far more dangerous situation, in her weakened condition. If nothing else, she ran the risk of reopening her incision and bleeding again. He needed to get her under control as quickly as he could.

"Top shelf, bathroom," she whispered, rolling onto her side and curling up to hold herself still. Logan hurried into the bathroom, thanking God for the exoskeleton. Without it he never would have been able to reach the dark brown bottle on the top shelf.

There was some milk in the refrigerator. It was sour but he poured her a glass, then helped her sit up enough to swallow the pills. "Ugh," she complained at the first taste, pulling away from the glass, leaning back against his arm for support.

"Drink up. It will get into your system faster than the pills can," he said, and she nodded, gulping it down obediently. When the glass was empty she handed it back, closing her eyes. Gently he lowered her back to the couch. The next hour or two would be rough, he knew, until the trypto had a chance to do its thing. He pulled a chair up next to the couch, picked up a pillow, and handed it to her. 

"Max, listen to me for a minute. You need to protect your incision. I want you to take this pillow and hold it against your stomach -- yes, that's good, just like that. When you feel the shakes coming, hold it against you. Like that. That's right." He made his voice as soothing as he could. "Try to relax. I'm right here with you and I'll help you, okay?"

She didn't answer, just nodded, and they stayed like that for the next hour, Logan supporting her during the worst shaking, occasionally checking the dressing on her stomach. To his relief there was only a small amount of extra bleeding. 

Max spoke only once. "Seems like you've ... done this before ... "

"Something like that." He hesitated, then reached out and brushed her hair back from her forehead. "Don't talk now. Plenty of time for that later." He pulled his hand back and for a long time the only sound in the room was the occasional soft moan Max couldn't quite hold in. 

Finally, as night came and the room began to darken, the seizures eased at last. Max stopped shaking and began yawning. "I kept you here all afternoon," she said sleepily. "You probably need to get out of here."

"That's all right. I make my own hours. I'll stay."

"No. Go. I can take care of myself." She closed her eyes and rolled over to face the back of the couch.

"Okay," he said, but didn't move from the chair. After a few minutes her breathing became slow and regular, and he knew she was asleep. He leaned back in the chair, stretching, and the rickety old thing gave a sudden loud creak. Max stirred. He froze.

"I never ate your food," she said drowsily, without turning her head.

"That's okay. Keep it for later," he answered.

"Thanks," she said almost inaudibly.

When he was sure she had gone back to sleep, he rose as quietly as he could. He didn't want to turn on a light, but with the unreliable power in the building Max and Cindy kept candles on every windowsill, tabletop, and counter. He found a book of matches and lit one candle, just enough to see the rise and fall of Max's breathing as she slept.

He sat in the chair and watched her sleep until Cindy came home.


	4. Things Get Tricky

Almost a week went by before Logan spoke to Max again. Much to his annoyance and frustration, there just wasn't any reason for him to call her, other than to ask how she was feeling, and he knew Max well enough to know what the answer would be: 

"Fine." 

To make matters worse, though Cindy reported in faithfully every day, he kept missing her calls. He would be coming in the door, getting out of the shower, taking a call on the other line -- the time of day never mattered. He was always a second too late to catch that final ring. She left messages, and he returned the calls, but for some reason she never answered them, even when it was literally only two minutes later. He wondered if she was avoiding him, then decided that he was too paranoid. OC wouldn't be that heartless. At least not until Max was back on her feet, anyway. Which, according to OC's messages, would happen soon. 

Max, as he'd suspected, seemed fine.

Still, he longed to talk to her, hear the sound of her voice -- hell, even to hear the sound of Cindy's voice -- to the point where he found himself one morning putting off a shower just in case OC called before work. _This is ridiculous_, he finally scolded himself, catching sight of his messy hair in the mirror. _Go clean up_. He started to head for the bathroom, then wheeled around and grabbed the phone, dropping it in his lap. It wouldn't hurt to take it with him. Chances were, OC wouldn't call while he was actually in the water, and even if she did, he could always say he was washing dishes.

So of course the phone did ring when he was in the water, washing his hair no less, and he very nearly fell out of the shower trying to hang onto the bar and fish for the phone with a soapy shampoo hand. Somehow, though, he managed to answer in time and actually say, "Hello?' with some amount of composure. 

To his surprise Max's voice said, "Hey. What the hell are you doing? Are you in the shower?" 

At that he nearly fell out again. Damn her hearing! "Hang on," he gasped. As quickly as he could he put Max on hold, shut off the water, and dried his hands. Heart pounding, he picked up the phone and pressed the line again. "Sorry, just, ah, washing dishes, my hands were soapy --" he began. It sounded lame even to him.

"No problem," Max answered with amusement in her voice. _She'd really be laughing if she could see me sitting here stark naked dripping shampoo_, he thought. 

"Sounds like I caught you at a bad time though --"

"Nope," he said confidently, feeling foam slide down the side of his face perilously close to his right eye. "What's up?"

"Well ... I was gonna ask if I could bum a ride from you this morning. I've got my post-op appointment and OC doesn't think I should ride my bike." This was said in a tone of voice suggesting that OC needed to lighten up and stop acting like someone's mom. "But if you're busy --"

"Give me half an hour and I'll be there."

Funny how a one-minute phone call could turn your whole day around, he thought as he dressed. He actually felt light-hearted. Not only was he going to spend a couple of hours with Max, he also wouldn't have to wait for OC to report in after the doctor's visit. When he powered up the exoskeleton servomotor, he hummed along like a kid making sound effects for his pretend spaceship. He was grinning as he left the apartment.

She was waiting outside her building when he pulled up. He saw right away that she really was fine. Her eyes sparkled and her hair, blowing in the afternoon breeze, was shiny again. She pulled the car door open and hopped in with her old energy. "Thanks for the ride," she said cheerfully.

"My pleasure," he replied, focused on pulling out into traffic. Which was why it took him a minute to realize she was staring intently at the dashboard. He watched her for a moment, puzzled. She looked up, frowning. Their eyes met. 

"Why are you driving like that?" she demanded.

"What?"

"With those dashboard thingies. What do they do?"

Oh, great. The hand controls. In an instant his good mood vanished. Ten days ago, sick and in shock and in the back seat, she hadn't noticed his driving at all, and of course he hadn't had enough sense to see this coming. "Oh. That," he said conversationally, thinking frantically. What cool mechanical feature could he possibly invent that would get by her, the girl who had grown up with cutting-edge Manticore technology? "It's a gas mileage enhancer," he heard himself saying. "It's custom. Gives me manual control over the gas feed to the carburetor. That's a lot of extra miles to the gallon here in the city. Can't conserve too much these days, can you?" 

She shot him a skeptical look. "Whatever," she said, then, almost to herself: "This car sure has a lot of issues." 

After that they didn't talk much, which was all right with Logan. It gave him a chance to calm down and collect his thoughts, and anyway he knew Max wasn't one for a lot of chit-chat, at least not with strangers. Or people she thought were strangers.

At Metro Medical he stayed in the car, telling her that he had errands to run and would be back later to pick her up. Actually he meant to wait right there in the parking lot, but Max didn't need to know that. If he sat in the car, he figured, he stayed away from Sam, and any references to his legs that might get Max started again. Eventually he would have to come up with a better way of keeping his secret than hiding, but for today it would do.

Max returned forty-five minutes later, breezing into the car just the way she always had, like she owned his passenger seat. _Does she actually remember?_ he wondered, momentarily hopeful.

"All set," she announced, buckling her seat belt.

"Get a clean bill of health?" he asked, backing out of the parking space.

"Yeah. Unfortunately, that means my doctor's note expires as of Monday morning." She made a face. "Whatever. I need the money, so I guess I'll suck it up and get back to work."

A block from the avenue where a right turn led out of Sector 9 in the direction of Sector 4, Max suddenly spoke. "We're pretty close to your place, right?"

"Yes," he said cautiously. What was this about? At the same time he felt a surge of excitement. She _was_ remembering. She knew the way. 

"Could we stop there real quick? I need to pee."

"You didn't think about that back at the hospital?"

She shrugged. "Didn't have to then."

"All right," he agreed, because he couldn't think of any reason not to, but he didn't believe her for a second. One of the many differences between Max and ordinary girls was that Max could hold it far, far longer than any human he'd ever known. His thoughts flashed back to their first meeting. Was she that broke? Was she checking him out for was anything worth stealing? If that was her plan, she was going to find a lot less than she had back in the day. 

And she didn't know it, hadn't known it even before the Manticore raid, but he had the Bast statue safely put away. No matter what else he had to let go to keep himself in contraband information and black-market informants, that statue was sacred. When she was gone, he had thought it was all he had left of her. Now, maybe one of these days maybe he could dare to hope of returning it to her. 

Speaking of put away -- what condition had he left the bathroom in? He had been in such a hurry. Forget the wet towels, had he remembered to put away all of his supplies? Hard to tell whether Max would have a clue what he was doing with medical equipment like catheters, but he wouldn't put anything past her. He concentrated as hard as he could, trying to visualize the bathroom as he'd left it, and finally decided he probably had cleaned up thoroughly. If there was something incriminating lying around, he'd just have to hope a used towel or a glob of shaving cream was covering it.

In the parking lot under Fogle Towers, he let Max get out of the car first, stifling his impulse to hurry ahead of her and run interference. She would be less likely to notice the exo if he stayed a step or two back. Too late he remembered the last time she'd been here, the night Zack tried to kill him. But she showed no sign of recognition or alarm. Quickly he caught up to her at the elevator bank.

In the elevator he had a moment of panic trying to gauge whether she could see his chair in the exercise area, until he remembered that he had left it in the bedroom. Then in the apartment he had another bad moment wondering whether she would glance into the bedroom on her way to the bathroom. Unfortunately he couldn't hang around watching her, not without looking like a real weirdo. Reluctantly he waited in the hallway by the front door, jingling his keys impatiently.

In just few minutes she sauntered back down the hallway, hands jammed into her back pockets. "Thanks," she said casually, glancing around. She was definitely checking the place out.

"Ready to go?" he asked, reaching for the front door handle. He couldn't wait to get her out of there.

Before she could answer, his cell phone rang. The caller ID showed the number of the secure phone only Matt Sung used. He hesitated, torn. He'd been waiting for this call, but he certainly didn't want Max listening in on it. "Just a second," he told her. If he went in the living room and spoke in a low voice, he told himself, it would be all right. The bedroom would have been more secure, but then he couldn't see her. 

And he definitely wanted to keep an eye on her right now.

In the living room he made a show of turning his back and concentrating on his call, all the while watching Max from the corner of his eye. She wandered into the office, inspecting the remaining art work and the computer equipment. Could she fence any of that? he wondered suddenly. Something he'd never considered before.

Matt hung up, but on impulse Logan left the phone open as if he were still listening.

Suddenly, Max glanced back sharply over her shoulder. Seemingly satisfied that he was busy, she reached out a hand and slipped something from the desk into her jacket.

__

I knew it! he thought triumphantly. He closed the phone as if his call had just ended, returned it to his pocket, and walked casually back to the office. Max stood next to the shelving, inspecting his servers as if they were every bit as fascinating as his art collection. He went past her to the desk as if he were looking for something, then turned as quickly as he could and threw his arms around her, pinning her arms to her sides. "Stand still," he said in her ear.

"Let go of me, you jerk," she answered, pushing against his grip as if she expected him to back off just because she'd said so. For Max, she really wasn't trying very hard. He ignored the scent of her hair and the warmth radiating from her cheek.

"Not until you tell me what you took off my desk," he said calmly.

To his surprise, Max laughed. "Is _that_ what you want?" she asked, twisting out of his grasp easily. She reached into her jacket and produced one of his checking account deposit slips. "Here," she said, throwing it down.

"What did you want that for?"

She shrugged, giving him a sideways look. "Maybe I was gonna surprise you with some cash."

"Thought you were broke."

"Okay, okay!" She folded her arms, glared back at him. "I'm just looking out for myself here. I have no idea who you really are. You've got a car full of bullet holes and mysterious gadgets and you know way too much about me. Maybe this didn't occur to you, but a girl on the run from a government agency needs to be careful about who she hitches a ride with."

"I'm sure you've already checked with OC. And did it ever occur to you that if you want to know something about me, you could just ask?"

She regarded him for a moment, then seemed to reach a decision. "Okay then, I'm asking." 

He took a deep breath. "On one condition."

"Which is?"

"That we have this conversation in a civilized way. Over dinner. Here."

She frowned. "Is this some kind of trick to get into my pants?"

"You mean like the trick you used to get into my apartment?"

She laughed then, and it made her eyes dance. "Touche. What, are we gonna order takeout Chinese or something?"

"No. I'll cook," he said, trying to make it sound like no big deal. Suddenly his heart was pounding with excitement and he didn't want her to know. "Make yourself at home," he added, gesturing to the living room. "Just keep your hands off my stuff, okay?"

"Okay," she agreed sweetly, turning away with a last amused glance at him.

He went into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and stood there for a long time, pretending to search the contents. She was going to spend the evening with him. And if he wasn't mistaken, she actually kind of liked the idea.


	5. Dark Rooms

In the old days Logan would never have left Max in the living room while he cooked. She would have been hanging around the kitchen, sticking her fingers in everything for a taste, and not spoiling her appetite a bit, either. Today, though, Logan needed a few minutes to calm down and gather his thoughts. 

Not that he regretted his impulsive invitation -- not for a moment. But he did need to pull himself together and plan. _Planning. It's what you do_, he reminded himself, taking a deep breath. _Let's see. What have you got to work with?_

Time. There was definitely time to cook a nice meal -- more than enough time, as a matter of fact, since it was only four o'clock. Not their usual dinner hour, but darkness came early on these fall days ... he had a sudden vision of Max by candlelight, not sick and sleeping but beautiful and laughing. It was very distracting.

__

Focus, he told himself sternly. 

Food. Not much in the fridge, but he could throw something together, vegetables and pasta and sauce. Wine. Good idea or bad idea? _Good_, he decided, _but get everything organized before you pull the cork_. And speaking of organized, this would be the ideal moment to slip discreetly into the bedroom and bathroom. Not like the old days, he thought wryly, setting the scene for whatever action was meant to follow the aforementioned food, candlelight, and wine. No, this time it was to be sure his true identity was safely hidden from Max's sharp eyes and insatiable curiosity. 

The back hallway and the bedroom were already growing dark. The wheelchair lurked in a shadowy corner, its chrome glinting like watchful eyes. Quickly Logan shut the door behind him and turned on the lights. The last thing he wanted to do was trip over something in the twilight and bring Max running in.

A pang of guilt touched him as he quietly folded the chair and pushed it into the closet, throwing some dirty laundry over it for extra concealment. Suddenly, not telling Max about his ... situation ... seemed like the most dishonest thing he had ever done. What if his dreams came true, and Max began to feel something for him again? If she began to remember who he was, who she was? How could he allow her to grow closer to him, not knowing what she was getting herself into? Not just the sexual issues, which were bad enough, but all the logistics of his daily life. What if she was repelled by it all? People were. Hell, sometimes _he_ was. 

But even worse was the thought of telling her the whole truth. No matter how explained it, justified it, spun it, he knew Max well enough to realize that she would blame herself, just as she always had, for not saving him the day of the shooting. 

And ... in a way, she was right. 

The stark truth was that if she had helped him out when he asked, it might not have happened. She had been out for herself. And his life had been changed forever. 

What would hearing that now be like for her? How would it feel, he wondered, to wake up one day and be told that a total stranger's life had been permanently altered because of a single moment when you could have said _Yes_ instead of _No_? Suddenly he was sure again of his choice to hide the truth for now. 

__

I may yet lose her when the day comes. She may not want me as I am. But I know for sure that she will walk away forever if she finds out now that she played any part in this. _However long ago it was, and however many times I have forgiven the universe for the price I've paid to have Max in my life -- that will be the end. She won't forgive herself. And I cannot lose her again_. He turned out the light and left the room. 

When he passed back through the living room, Max was inspecting his music collection. "Is this all you have?" she asked, nose wrinkled, holding up a CD of classical music. The sight of her instantly banished his serious thoughts. He laughed.

"Sorry, but I'm afraid so," he told her. Max pouted.

"Isn't it bad enough you've got me sitting out here on the couch like your old aunt or something? Can I come in the kitchen and watch you do your thing?"

He was so pleased he couldn't answer for a moment. "Of course, and believe me, you're nothing like my old aunt," he told her, leading the way to the kitchen. _Though I'm not sure I can trust either one of you with my possessions_, he thought. The exoskeleton footpieces seemed incredibly loud against the floor, but Max said nothing. He wondered briefly what on earth she thought that sound was. Then he let it go and opened the bottle of wine.

They talked for a while then, Max perched on the counter with a glass of wine while Logan cooked. "So what were you trying to find out about me from my checking account?" he asked, pouring some olive oil into a hot pan. Max waited until the sizzle died down to speak. 

"I don't know. Whatever," she said as if she wasn't really interested any more, and then, with unusual shyness, "Could I ask you a couple of things about my family first? Me fritzing out that day at my apartment kind of messed our conversation up."

"Sure."

"I asked you where my brother Zack is. Do you know?"

"No," he said, glad he could be honest, at least for the moment. She didn't need to know that Matt Sung was doing a little investigation for him behind the scenes, helping him track down Lydecker. Not that Matt had any real idea of what he was searching for. As far as he knew he was on a routine job for Eyes Only. That was why he had called earlier.

"Why were you talking to a cop on the phone before?" she asked suddenly. "Is Zack in trouble with the cops? Is that why he's hiding?"

So she _had_ been listening to his call. "He was," Logan replied evenly. "He was arrested for murder, escaped, and came back here for you, to rescue Tinga. I assume there's still a warrant outstanding. I have a contact on the police force. He's checking on it for me."

"Thanks."

"No problem."

"I thought maybe you were calling the cops on me, before," she said, still a bit shyly. "OC says I can trust you but ..."

"But what?"

"I don't know. There's something weird about you. Can't quite put my finger on it." She stared hard at him over the top of her wineglass until he felt his face growing red. Quickly he looked down at his pan of sauteed vegetables. 

"I'd better get this in the oven," he said hastily, pouring the vegetables into a casserole. Just as he picked it up the overhead lights went out, flicked back on, then went out again. And stayed out. The kitchen was black.

"Uh oh," Logan said, setting the casserole dish back down on the counter. Though he knew the layout of the kitchen all too well, its clearances and corners, in the dark and on his feet he didn't dare move. To his relief he heard Max slide off the counter and walk confidently towards the living room.

"Candles?" she called out.

"Table. Matches too," he called back.

In a moment he heard the rasp of a match striking and Max's face suddenly appeared. "There," she said, moving gracefully from table to windowsill, lighting more candles. A glow surrounded her. She smiled back at Logan and for a moment he forgot all the complications and anxiety. Except for their dinner.

"Looks like we won't be eating this after all. Electric oven," he apologized. Max shrugged. 

"Whatever. I'll settle for what's around." _Fine blow to my chef's ego_, he thought ruefully, putting the casserole in the dark refrigerator. Max was searching the cabinets. "You need to go food shopping," she said, finally pulling out a box of saltines.

"That's not dinner."

"Salty stuff is good with wine." Ignoring his skeptical expression, she carried the box over to the table with her wineglass, and slid into a chair. What else could he do? He followed with the bottle and his own glass. 

They talked more, a lot more, over that bottle of wine and box of crackers. 

And to Logan's amazement, it was easy. Unexpectedly, he found he could talk about himself as a journalist, and as Max's friend, without saying anything at all about the shooting and its aftermath. Catching the bad guys, looking for Max's family, finding Max's family, meeting his family -- they were all great stories that had absolutely nothing to do with wheelchairs. Nothing.

Funny. At the time it had seemed like the entire universe had revolved around his paralyzed body. Now, recalling those days for Max, telling her about some of the adventures they'd shared and the work they'd done together, he saw for the first time that his condition had had practically nothing to do with their relationship. Wasn't that what she had always tried to tell him? 

__

It's never been about you being able to walk, Logan. Not for me. 

He had always dismissed those words as just words, just Max saying the right thing, probably really believing it too. Now -- and maybe it was the wine, which was going to his head pretty quickly -- he almost wanted to laugh. At himself, and just for the pleasure of letting that burden go, at long last. Not that he wouldn't have to pick it up again someday when he told Max the truth. But now -- now he had some hope. That maybe his worst fears and suspicions weren't always the whole story.

Then his phone rang.

He was having too much fun to go in the other room to take the call, so he flipped open the cell phone and said, "Hello?" with barely a glance at the caller ID. The sound of the voice on the other end was like a bucket of cold water.

"Why do you have the cops looking for Zack?" asked Lydecker.

Logan sobered instantly. Under no circumstances could Max hear this call, and under no circumstances could Lydecker realize that Max was with him. He put Lydecker on hold and quickly excused himself. Picking up a candle, he hurried to the bedroom. He was so focused on the call he didn't even have time to wallow in regret about not bringing Max along. He released the hold.

"Don't put me on hold, son."

"Sorry."

"Do you have any idea how risky it is to get a bunch of cops looking into Zack's past again? Are you trying to jeopardize everything I've worked for since the raid?"

"If you'd just tell me where you are I wouldn't have to."

"It's for your safety."

"I'll worry about my own safety, thanks."

"Call off the cops." The line went dead.

Logan snapped the phone shut and as he did, the lights came back on. Exasperated, his mood deflated, he went back to the living room. To his further dismay Max was putting her jacket on.

"Where are you going? We can cook now." He gestured at the kitchen.

"Sorry. Elevator's back in business, gotta jet. Meeting friends at Crash." She zipped her jacket. "I had a good time though. And thanks for filling me in on all that stuff. Can we do it again some time?"

"Sure," he said. That made him feel a little better. Something to look forward to. He walked her to the front door.

"And hey, if you need a private investigator, let me know. Sounds like we work good together, so ... I'd be up for it." With a last smile over her shoulder, she disappeared into the elevator.

He closed the door behind her, not knowing quite how to feel, thinking that sometimes, the more things changed, the more they stayed the same.


	6. Exposed

After the blackout night, he didn't hear from Max for a while. 

He couldn't decide whether to call her. If there was one thing he had learned about Max, it was that she didn't like being needed. Nothing would send her running faster than having someone depend on her, expect something from her. Cindy had actually managed to make him laugh once or twice over the summer, telling stories about the many excuses, each one wilder than the last, that Max had given Normal for her chronic absences from Jam Pony. 

Of course, no one knew better than he did that Max had had plenty of good reasons for being late to work a few times. What had made him laugh was knowing that Max hadn't felt the slightest remorse over letting her employer down. If anything, she'd blamed Normal for counting on her in the first place. Moron. 

So right now he hated the idea of seeming needy. Besides, other than the memory loss that had wiped out a year of her life -- their lives -- she didn't seem changed at all. She was Max. She would show up when she was ready to show up. If she didn't -- well, trying to find her would only cause some sort of disaster. Better to wait.

As it turned out, he was wrong about that.

The night Max showed up again, he worked late. He was in the office, just closing up some files on the computer. The waistband of the exoskeleton was hot and itchy, and he wanted to take it off and relax in bed. 

"Hey."

He turned from the desk to see Max leaning against the doorway. He opened his mouth to say "Hey" back, but the words caught in his throat as he understood what he was seeing.

She stood there in an attitude of frank seductiveness, her tight jeans emphasizing the curve of her hip, her smooth skin showing above and below her short top, a little smile playing on her full lips as her eyes locked with his. "Hey," she said again, in a soft, sexy voice. He could smell the faint flowery scent of her across the room.

Oh no. Max was in heat.

Desire and panic fought inside him. He couldn't help feeling thrilled at the sight of her and the knowledge that she wanted him, but he had no intention of allowing anything to happen under these circumstances. Dammit, where was Cindy? Why hadn't she locked Max in the closet or at least called to warn him? 

He glanced around the office quickly. Was there any way to make a run for it without --

Quicker than he could react, she had him. He heard papers crackling and assumed that his butt was leaning on the table. He threw a hand back for support, trying to push her gently away with the other. It was hopeless. She was too strong and way too determined. Catching his wrist, she placed his free hand firmly on the table and held it there, her eyes never leaving his. Then he heard his zipper and felt the flat of her arm against his belly. Which meant that her wrist, and her hand, were ... oh God ... He tried to look down, but her dark head blocked his view.

"Max, wait," he began.

"Take these off," she gasped, and he saw her yank his pants, hard, then thrust her hand further down. Suddenly her expression changed. He looked down to see the plastic, metal, and strapping over his right hip exposed, and next to that, a flat expanse of brief. He couldn't tell whether it was the exo or the all-too-obvious lack of arousal that caught her attention, but wide-eyed, she released him and stepped away.

"Oh God. I'm sorry. I thought you were into ... I mean, God, I just assumed ... sorry," she panted, fumbling for her jacket. "Oh, God," she said again.

"Max, wait --"

"Sorry. I'm so ... I'm out of here. Sorry." And with that she ran from the office, jacket flapping. Seconds later he heard the quiet click of the front door closing.

Damn! He slammed his hand on the desk in frustration. Of everything that could have gone wrong, this was pretty high up on his list of _No, please not that_. He didn't dare call Cindy now, since Max was likely to head home. _Or maybe not_, he thought bitterly, remembering her last heat cycle. And Rafer. 

But Cindy would be hearing from him first thing in the morning.

Belatedly remembering his dignity, he zipped his pants and headed for the shower, where he sat for a long time under the spray of hot water, trying to decide whether what felt worse: that he hadn't been able to stop her coming on to him, or that she now believed he wasn't interested in her. Damn, damn, damn.

--------------------

He overslept in the morning, so that when Cindy showed up with her bicycle he was still in a t-shirt and sweat pants, hair standing crazily on end. "What happened last night?" he demanded, rolling past her into the living room. Cindy raised her eyebrows.

"Good morning to you too, sugar," she replied, leaning her bike against the hallway wall none too gently. Logan winced at the scrape of her handlebars against the paint. She came into the living room and stood with her arms folded.

"Look, I got to get back to work, so let's make this quick. Original Cindy messed up last night. That's a fact."

"What did she say? Forget that, I don't want to know."

Cindy ignored him. "She thinks you're into some kind of freak scene and you ain't interested in regular straight-up hetero love. At least not with her."

"Oh God," Logan groaned. 

"The good news is, the whole thing spun her so bad she came straight home and let Original Cindy watch her back. No pizza boys this time."

Logan sighed. "Probably would have been better than what happened."

"No need to get all down," Cindy scolded him. "Won't take no time at all to fix. You give her twenty-four hours to get past this and then you talk it out with her."

"And say what?"

"Look, you got to stop frontin' like this. Tell the woman the truth about yourself."

"Which is?"

Cindy let out a loud, exasperated sigh. "That you ain't into any freak thing, that you're crazy in love with her. And that you got shot, so it ain't about wanting her, 'cause we all know you do. And when the time is right ... " Cindy gave him a hard look. "Twenty-four hours. I'll call you when it's safe. And then you gotta step up and take care of this. You got me?"

"Okay, call me," he said resignedly as Cindy wheeled her bike out of the apartment.

As soon as the door closed, Logan went to the window. He sat there for a long time, staring at nothing. The thought that had kept him awake most of the night was back, stronger than ever.

It went like this: _I've been around Max before when she was in heat before. She never came on to me then. Why now?_

Was it because this time he had been on his feet? Because -- in spite of everything she had said to him that first year -- it really was about him being able to walk? 

Had he been kidding himself the night of the blackout? Sitting there in the candlelit dark, letting the wine seduce him into thinking that all along, Max had treated him the way she would have treated any guy? Because right now it seemed like he had missed something fairly obvious. Sure, she had treated him just the way she would have treated any guy -- any guy who was her pal, her co-worker, maybe even her brother. 

But not her lover. Not until now, when she knew him as a completely different person.

That was a long day, followed by another long night.

--------------------------------------------------------

Cindy called almost exactly twenty-four hours later. She gave no details, merely announced in a low voice that "it" was all over and that both she and Max were at work. She also said that Max planned to head straight home that evening - alone - for dinner before heading out to Crash. "Would be a good time for you to catch her," Cindy informed him in a tone full of meaning. Then she hung up before he could respond.

He threw the phone at the couch. It hit the back and bounced off the cushions once. He left it there and went to the office.

By the time the apartment grew so dark he could no longer see the papers on his desk, he knew what he had to do. Cindy, as much as he hated to admit it, was right. He simply could not allow Max to go on believing ... whatever it was that she now believed. That he didn't want her? That she owed him an apology? That she deserved to be ashamed? He didn't want the word "humiliation" to be the first thing in her mind whenever she thought about him. He wanted her to be able to stand thinking about him. Scratch that. He wanted her to love thinking about him as much as he loved thinking about her. Even if that love might never be the kind he most wanted.

So he didn't bother turning on the office light. Instead, he closed the file on screen and, before he had time to change his mind, picked up his car keys and left the apartment. He was going to Max's place. Wrinkled shirt, unshaven face, and all. And in the chair.

__

It's not like she needs to know she was there - or not there - when it happened, he thought as he started the car, pulling out into the street, grateful for the rush-hour traffic that gave him time to compose himself. 

__

I've been overcomplicating this. All I have to tell her is that I was out on a job, got shot, and here we are. 

__

Did I know you then? she'll ask, and I'll say, _We'd met, but we didn't start working together until after. After I came home from the hospital_, he amended sternly. Don't dance around it. 

He didn't get out of the car right away when he arrived at her building. Instead, he took a deep breath and dialed Max's number on his cell. She answered on the second ring.

"Max? It's Logan." Don't give her time to get scared. "I'm outside your building and I'd like to come up and talk to you. May I?"

There was a short silence and then she said in a flat, expressionless voice, "Yeah, sure. Come on up."

"Thanks," he said. "Um - is your elevator working tonight?"

"Yeah," she answered, sounding like she couldn't imagine what on earth he needed to know that for. Suspicious. _Just wait_, he thought sardonically.

"Thanks," he answered, hurriedly closing the phone and reaching for the chair. He was slow; he'd been using the exo so much lately he was out of practice, and now he regretted spoiling himself. Effort and anxiety made his forehead and palms damp with sweat. Feeling disheveled, he wheeled into the lobby and waited for the ancient elevator to creak to a halt.

Upstairs, the hallway was silent and Max's door was closed. _Guess I couldn't expect her to rush out to greet me_, he thought. He swiped his palms on his pants legs a last time, tugged his jacket down, and knocked on the door.

When Max opened the door she looked right over his head for a few seconds, clearly expecting the Logan who was quite a bit taller than she was. "Hey," he said helpfully, and she looked down then. The astonishment on her face would have been funny if it hadn't been for what he was about to tell her.

"Can I come in?" he asked. Max, never big on etiquette even in more ordinary circumstances, stepped aside and watched -- stared, really -- as he rolled in. She shut the door with a quick push and sat down on the couch, hard, still staring at the chair.

"Shouldn't you lock the door?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said, and did, then returned to the couch to stare some more.

His heart was pounding now, but that was something he knew how to handle. He had been scared, really afraid, the night he was shot. He didn't remember the actual shooting, but he did remember the hours leading up to it. At the time he had thought his fear was a protective instinct, heightening his alertness. Now sometimes he wondered whether he'd had a kind of sixth sense, an instinct, that the job would go wrong. _I hope that's not what I'm feeling tonight_, he thought, but even as he thought it he realized he had no right to expect this conversation to go well. He took a deep breath.

"So. I guess you're wondering about this." Best just to say it straight out. "A year and a half ago, I was on an investigative job and got shot. Took a bullet in the spine. I'm paralyzed." There.

"You were _walking_," Max answered as if he'd just said the stupidest thing she had ever heard.

"Yes. I got my hands on a surplus Department of Defense exoskeleton, and it allows me to walk. But, I'm still paralyzed." Most of his attention was on her, waiting for her reaction. But a little part of his mind was saying, _Listen to you. You said it. Twice. Right out loud_. He pushed the thought away for later.

Then comprehension broke over Max's face. "How paralyzed?" she asked, eyes narrowed.

"From about here --" he indicated a spot between his rib cage and his hipbones "-- all the way down." He hoped she couldn't see how badly his hands were shaking. "I'm lucky. Twenty years ago, it would have been a lot worse. At least I got state of the art treatment in a decent hospital." _Shut up now, Logan, and let her process all this_.

She seemed to be thinking, though he had no idea what was really going on behind that beautiful face. Abruptly she stood up, and now he could see that she was angry. Instinctively he backed the chair up a few inches. She stalked over to the window, then turned back to face him. "You could have told me, you know," she said furiously. "I thought -- the other night -- I thought it was _me_!" she finished in a burst.

Now he didn't know what to say. If there had ever been a time when he wanted to confess his deepest love, lust, and longing for her, it was now. He would have done anything to reassure her. And of course he couldn't say a word. He'd deceived her, embarrassed her, and on top of all that, he was more or less still a total stranger to her. Feeling like a complete idiot, he began, "It wasn't you, Max, it was me, and --"

Where it would have gone from there, he never found out. Max was suddenly standing in front of him, and she was really angry. "Oh sure, that's what all the guys say. It's _me_. Well, thanks for the explanation, and now I've got plans for tonight, so you'll have to excuse _me_." It took him a few seconds to realize she'd just thrown him out. There was nothing else for him to do but head for the door. 

Unfortunately the chain was out of his reach. He waited. 

"What?" Max snarled when he didn't leave.

"Could you unlock the door?" he asked, and Max stalked over.

"Excuse me for not noticing. Maybe if you'd told me the truth two weeks ago I'd be thinking of stuff like that by now." She dropped the chain loudly against the door. He opened it with as much dignity as he could summon, then rolled into the hall. 

The door slammed resoundingly behind him before he even had a chance to turn around.


	7. Something She Wants

He sat in the dark hallway for a few moments, too disgusted with himself to move.  Only the thought that Max would be heading out any minute now finally motivated him to get out of there. 

The elevator took an incredibly long time to arrive, so long that Logan began to think it had gone out of service.  But at last it showed up, stopping with a groan several inches above the floor.  Quickly he tipped the chair back and jumped it up into the elevator, sighing with relief as he turned to face the closing doors.  Now all he had to do was make it back to the car and he could start putting some distance between him and the all-too-vivid memory of Max's fury. 

He was just reaching up to rub his tired eyes when the elevator jerked to a halt.  His hand flew up in the air, knocking his glasses off.  He heard them hit his shoes.  "Damn," he swore irritably, groping at his feet with one hand and grabbing a wheel with the other.  The elevator doors were as unpredictable as everything else in Max's building.  They might stay open half the night, or they might close in seconds ... _where were his damned glasses_ ... the only thing worse than getting stuck in the elevator for another ride upstairs, and maybe running into Max, would be hearing the crunch of glass and metal under his wheels ... _damn it_ ... Just as the door gave a warning screech, his hand closed around the glasses, dangling precariously from his left foot.  He grabbed them, threw them in his lap, and gave one huge push that sent him shooting out into the lobby -- right into a blurry female figure.

"Hold up there!  Where you going in such a hurry?" demanded a familiar voice.  He slipped his glasses on and Original Cindy came into focus, hands on hips, looking extremely annoyed.  "Ain't it bad enough I missed the elevator without you taking off a coupla my toes?" she continued, then stopped.  "Uh-oh," she said thoughtfully, seeing the expression on Logan's face.  "Something tells me there might be a reason you haulin' ass out of here like that."

"Yeah," said Logan shortly, not meeting her eyes.

"You wanna talk to Original Cindy about it?"

What was the point?  He already knew what Cindy would say: _You got no one to blame but yourself._  And she was right ... but his pride had taking all the butt-kicking it could handle for one day.  All he wanted to do was get out of there.

"No," he said, and rolled out the door before Cindy could say another word.

-------------------------------------

He woke up the next morning on the couch.  At first he had no idea what day it was or why he wasn't in bed, and then everything came back in an unpleasant rush.   He had returned from Max's apartment too upset to sleep ... or so he had thought.  But half a glass of wine had knocked him out for the night.  _You're in pathetic shape_, he chastised himself, feeling his shoulders ache as he stretched.  _You need to start working out again._

With a sigh, he headed into the kitchen and made coffee.  When it was ready he took it to the window and watched the city for a few moments.  _I wonder what Max is doing now_, he thought.  _I wonder what she did last night.  I wonder if she told OC anything ..._

"Stop," he said to himself, setting the cup down.  

The sound was very loud in the quiet apartment.  

After a minute he couldn't stand the silence any more.  He didn't want to think about last night.  Maybe I should call Bling, see about scheduling a workout.  Not that he could afford a lot of Bling's time any more, but he could certainly scrape up enough for one good session, to get him started again.  And he owed Matt Sung a phone call.  He wouldn't let last night's humiliation stop him from finding out what Lydecker was up to with Zack, if for no other reason than his own safety.  Grabbing his coffee cup, he headed for the office, feeling very relieved to have something to do.

--------------------------------------

Matt Sung did have news, so Logan arranged to meet him in the parking lot of an abandoned trucking company on the outskirts of town.  They had met there once or twice before, when Matt was giving Logan confidential information he had gathered through contacts in the police department.  The last thing Logan wanted to do was risk the safety of another informant, and phone calls, no matter how cryptic, were too easy for someone to overhear or trace.  It was not hard for both Matt and Logan to be sure they hadn't been followed to the parking lot, however, and should anyone happen to stumble on them, it was easy enough for Matt to pull out his detective's shield and say he was on police business.

Logan was grateful for the distraction, and grateful for the chance to get out of the apartment.  Bling had come by that morning to supervise a workout.  Logan had been glad to see him but Bling had been his usual forthright self, telling Logan how out of shape he was and how much work he had ahead of him.  Logan had been a good sport about it until Bling asked how Max was doing.  Then Logan got quiet -- _okay, evasive_, he admitted to himself -- and Bling got suspicious.  To make matters worse, Cindy had called twice during their session, leaving messages that further provoked Bling's curiosity.  "Wanna tell me what's going on?" Bling asked as they finished up, and Logan gave him the same answer he'd given Cindy the day before.  

"No," he said, draping a towel over his sweaty head.

"Suit yourself, man," Bling answered cheerfully, heading to the kitchen for a glass of water

After Bling left Logan had considered calling Cindy back, but when he heard the message from Matt, he told himself there wasn't time.  Instead he had arranged the meeting, then headed for the shower.

Now here he was an hour and a half later, pulling cautiously into the old parking lot.  The Aztek bumped over the cracked blacktop as Logan circled and finally stopped behind a long-abandoned trailer, now rusted out and leaning to one side.  A moment later he heard the crunch of tires and Matt's car pulled up beside him.  Then, just for a second, Logan thought he heard something else.  He glanced around, but the overgrown weeds surrounding the lot were perfectly still.  He looked down at Matt.

"Hey," Matt said, glancing around as he spoke.  "I need to make this quick, but here."  He reached up, passing an envelope up to Logan.  "These are the directions to a farm about five miles out of town.  Local cop was sent out there last week to investigate a disturbance.  The family told her their nephew, who's been under psychiatric care, came to stay with them and had an emotional outburst.  Apparently there's an attendant watching this kid --"

"Matching that description I gave you?" Logan interrupted.  _Male, blond, middle-aged, glasses.  Likes black clothing._  

"Yeah.  Anyway, the family assured the cop they had everything under control, had the kid on meds and under constant supervision.  The cop asked to see the kid and he seemed fine, just a little doped up, so she left."

Logan slipped the envelope into his jacket pocket.  "Thanks, Matt.  I owe you one."

"You owe me more than one by now," Sung said with a smile.  "Take care, Logan."  Glancing around again, he pulled away.  

Logan waited.  Two cars leaving the lot right behind each other would be too suspicious.  Better give Matt a head start ... after two or three minutes, he cautiously pulled up to the edge of the trailer, in the opposite direction from the one Matt had taken, and looked around.  Seeing nothing, he turned the corner and then stopped abruptly.

Directly in front of him was a glossy black motorcycle.  Leaning against it, in a leather jacket and with arms folded, was Max.  She looked a lot like she had the night she was in heat, except that this time she wasn't trying to be seductive.  This time she meant to challenge him.  

Meeting her stare, though his heart had begun to pound wildly, he pulled up and opened the window.  "What are you doing here?" he asked.

Max shrugged.  "Well, you know, I had a delivery in the neighborhood, and I thought I'd just take a moment to stop and appreciate the beauty of nature ... What do you think I'm doing here?  I followed you.  I want to know what _you're_ doing here."

"You've been watching me?"

Max snorted.  "You know, for some reason I just can't put my finger on, I don't trust you.  So I thought I'd better keep an eye on you."  She pushed away from the bike and walked up to the car, casually leaning on the frame of the open window.  "So," she said, looking around the interior of the car, "tell me again what those thingies there do?"  She pointed to the hand controls.  "Didn't you say something about the, uh, carburetor?"  Her voice dripped sarcasm.

Logan felt his face turning red.  He was very quickly forgetting his misery of the previous night because he was very quickly getting angry.  There was no way he was going to give her the satisfaction of knowing that, though.  "Those are hand controls," he said evenly. "That's how I give it gas.  Like this," he said, pressing the accelerator without warning.  The car shot forward.

An ordinary person would have been knocked off her feet, but of course, Max's excellent reflexes saved her.  The instant the car began to move she pulled her arms away and stepped back almost casually.  She took her time coming back to the window, and Logan realized she was inspecting the bullet holes she had noticed the day he brought her back from the hospital.  

"Wanna tell me about these bullet holes?" she asked.

"Not really."

Max raised her eyebrows.  "What did that cop give you?" she asked.

Logan hesistated.  If he lied, she would know it instantly, and he was already in enough trouble.  But telling her truth might very well get her in trouble.  She would be on her bike, heading off to confront the people he suspected were Lydecker and Zack, without having any idea of how dangerous that might be.  

There was no telling what she would do to Lydecker.  Logan was sure she had no memory of the uneasy truce they had called before the Manticore raid.  Lydecker might be dead and Zack escaped before he could do anything about it.  It would be in everyone's best interests for him to lie ... but he just couldn't.  

Sure, Max was still furious with him, but it wasn't the first time.  How many times in their year together had she shouted, slammed the door, walked out on him?  Yet she had always gotten over it.  He had seen so many signs, this last few weeks, that despite her lost memories she was still basically the same Max.  Still independent, still brilliant, still devoted to her family.  Which meant that there might also still be a part of her that could still love Logan  ... or at least feel a little affection for him ... 

At last he looked up and met her eyes.  Was it his imagination, or did her gaze soften just a tiny bit?  Could she see any of what he was feeling?  He took a deep breath, and before he could regret it, said, "I may have a lead on your family.  But let's find someplace safer to discuss it."  He felt like his eyes were pleading with her in spite of his pride.  

She considered for a moment, then said, "Yeah, okay.  Your place?"

"Meet you there."

She hopped on the bike without another word and took off.  He followed her out of the lot slowly.  

_Don't be too pleased with yourself_, the voice in his head warned him.  _She still thinks you're a lying creep.  You have something she wants, that's all._

But that was exactly what had kept her near him once before ... maybe it would work again.


	8. Bullet Holes

Max beat him to the parking garage under Fogle Towers.  She was waiting near the entrance, the bike idling.  Logan motioned for her to follow him to his assigned parking space and she nodded.  _Damn_, he thought, momentarily distracted from trying to figure out exactly what to tell her about his meeting with Matt Sung.  It was so hard not to be disappointed at little moments like that, when it struck him all over again that Max didn't know any more where to find his car, or any of the other little details of his life she had taken for granted in the past.

He glanced in the rearview mirror.  Max rode slowly behind him, checking out the garage.  _Probably looking for my secret underground lair_, Logan told himself.  _Little does she know she's already been in my Eyes Only lair more times than she could count_.  But thinking of Eyes Only bothered him too.  Now that Max considered him a liar -- and with some justification -- what would she think when she found out that he hadn't exactly fully explained his professional circumstances either?  He didn't like keeping Eyes Only a secret.  He was used to sharing his work with her and wished he could still do that, even though he knew he'd infuriated her sometimes with his obsessiveness.  But until she was herself again, he just couldn't take the risk.

He pulled into his spot, shut off the ignition, and reached into the back for his chair, assuming that Max would prefer to talk upstairs in the comfort of the penthouse.  To his surprise, however, she put her hand on the driver's side door to stop him from opening it.  "Wait," she commanded.

Logan sat back but kept an eye on her in the rearview and side mirrors.  His parking space was the last one in its row, which meant that the driver's side of the Aztek was exposed.  Max was walking slowly along, scanning it inch by inch, and then looking at the nearby concrete wall and support pillar.  After she had considered both the car and the concrete from several angles, she walked back to the driver's window.

"I'm not much of a gun nut, so I kinda snoozed through ballistics class back at Manticore, but it looks to me like maybe your car got shot up right here in your own parking garage.  Am I right?"

"Yes."

"Huh.  Why?"

"Why what?"

Max raised her eyebrows.  "Why was someone ... shooting at you ... in your own ... parking garage?" she asked with exaggerated patience, as if speaking to a child.  Then, when he hesitated, she seemed to think better of her attitude. 

"Is this how you got hurt?" she asked a bit more gently.

"No," he answered.  "No, that was a long time ago.  This," he added before she could ask any more questions, "just happened about a month ago, and it's part of what I want to talk to you about.  Let's go upstairs and --"

"No."  Max cut him off.  "Right here is fine."  She folded her arms and regarded him sternly, and after a minute he sighed.  

"Fine.  Those bullet holes were made by your brother, Zack, who apparently _didn't _snooze through ballistics class at Manticore."

"Who was he shooting at?"

"Me," said Logan, looking Max straight in the eye.

"Why? Did you lie to him too?"

"No," Logan replied, feeling irritated again,  "but he thought I did."

"You wanna explain this?"

"I told you about the raid --"

"Yes," Max answered impatiently.

"You were both captured.  They experimented on Zack ..." Logan stopped.  Max was no longer looking at him.  Her eyes were wide with alarm and her mouth was open.

"What is it?" Logan asked, beginning to look around.  Had someone followed them?  Had Max's enhanced hearing detected danger?

"_He's hiding in the woods near Manticore. I have to get to him before they find him_, " Max whispered, then looked up at Logan, still clearly shaken.  Logan felt his hands go cold.  She was remembering!  That was what she had told him the night Zack called to tell her he had escaped from Manticore the first time!

Max was still looking at him, a question in her eyes.  "Did that really happen?" she asked in a near-whisper.

"Yes," Logan said.  "Yes, it did, but over a year ago ... you're remembering ..."  Suddenly he felt hopeful and scared all at once.  Then Max shook her head, as if to clear it.

"Damn, it's gone now."  Her eyes narrowed.  "So he was captured again?"

Logan had to struggle to focus on her question.  "Yeah ... that's right," he said, pushing his disappointed feelings aside.  "His memory was damaged, his mind was altered --"

"Bastards," said Max passionately.

"Max, listen to me."  Logan could see her growing outrage and was afraid that she would take off on the Ninja before he could make her understand.  "The raid on Manticore was a team effort.  It was you and Zack, Syl and Krit, and two others.  Me.  And Lydecker."

"Lydecker?"  Now Max looked openly shocked.  "That's impossible."

"No," said Logan urgently.  "He turned against them too, Max.  He and I stayed behind while you four broke in to rescue Tinga.  We were on comms.  When the raid went wrong, we came to help.  It's just that we were too late for you and Zack."

"What exactly went down?"

Logan hesitated again.  "You were shot.  Through the heart.  Dead.  Zack shot himself so that you could have an X-5 heart."

Max caught her breath, and her eyes filled with tears.  Logan felt his own eyes sting, but hurried on, controlling his voice as best he could.  He couldn't let Max walk away from this conversation until she understood.

"They rebuilt him with cybernetic implants, but there was brain damage, and he's convinced that Lydecker and I betrayed all of you.  That's why he shot at me.  Lydecker took him away, though he's hardly in any less danger than I am --"

"You know where they are," Max interrupted fiercely.  "Tell me."

"Wait --"

"_Tell me_."

"Do you understand what I've just told you?  Lydecker is not your enemy --"

"He's sure as hell not my friend!"

"But he's trying to help Zack recover.  Let him do it."  Without thinking Logan put his hand on Max's shoulder and she threw him off angrily, turning to leave.

"Max!  Do you want someone to die here?" he shouted after her.  At that she stopped and turned back to the car.  He was sorry he'd had to say that, but at least now he had her attention.

"Zack needs help," Logan continued quietly, trying to sound as rational as possible.  "He was programmed by Manticore to kill.  In his mind, Lydecker and I are two real good candidates, but right now nobody knows who else might be on his list.  Not you," he added, seeing a question in Max's eyes.  "But that's why Lydecker has him in a secure location, and I doubt they're alone.  I'm sure Syl and Krit are there, and probably any other X-5 they've been able to round up since Manticore burned."

"I want to see them," Max said fiercely.  "It's all I've wanted for the last eleven years."

"I know," Logan said sympathetically.  "I know.  But there's a lot you don't remember about the last year.  Which could make a difference in your safety, or in Lydecker's, or in mine.  Let me fill you in.  It will be like preparing for a mission.  The last time you went to rescue one of your siblings, it didn't have such a happy ending.  Let's make it work this time."

Max hesitated, then angrily smacked her hand against the side of the Aztek.  "You'd better be playing straight with me on this one," she said, and Logan exhaled in relief.  _This is her way of giving in_, he told himself.  _Not gracefully, but that's Max, and you'd better take her up on it before she changes her mind_.

"Good," he said.  "Come back tonight.  I'll feed you and I'll fill you in on everything I can think of.  Deal?"

"Yeah.  Fine," said Max, staring at the bullet holes in the concrete garage wall.  "Might as well go to work for a few hours then."  She started to walk away, and Logan's shoulders sagged back against the car seat.  Then, abruptly, Max turned around.

"And one more thing.  When I come back I want you to explain something to me."

"Yes?"

Max stared hard at him.  "I'm not sure I want to give you any time to work out some story about this, so let's just say that I'd really love to know why Zack decided to kill you first.  He hates Lydecker.   He must really despise you, huh?  Why is that?"

And before Logan could answer, she was on the Ninja and roaring out of the parking garage.


End file.
